Like No One Before
by TheFitfulFire
Summary: But he's positive now that there is no one like her, particularly at this moment, when her eyes are fixated on his from across the dark bar room.


He's not entirely certain he's even seen someone like her before. He's seen her, of course—it's rather difficult to avoid one's traveling companion, after all. Perhaps it's her air, or the dress she's wearing-_don't see her in dresses often, _he thinks- or perhaps it's the 51st century hormones that make her smell… absolutely fantastic. But he's positive now that there _is _no one like her, particularly at this moment, when her eyes are fixated on his from across the dark bar room.

They aren't here for pleasure—_at least_, he thinks, _I'm not_. She, however, manages to make every sortie or venture into quite an entertaining outing. This was one of those rare occasions wherein he was here to help _her_, to assist her in tracking some artefact that had been on display in her university. A corner of his mouth twitches in an almost-smile at the memory. _'Sweetie, I need you.' _Simple, to the point. Completely unlike their…relationship? He went directly to her when she called—how could he not? She had a kind of hold on him, one that not even he could explain.

When the door of the TARDIS swung open she was there, waiting, her unruly curls pulled back—blonde this time, he noticed—and her hands resting on her hips. An absolutely delightful smile was upon her lips, as if she were up to no good and now had a dependable comrade to join in the mischief. Which she did. After a fashion.

"Hello, Sweetie," she said.

"River," he greeted. Such simple, ordinary words, weighted with meaning that only they understood.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

That had been two days ago. He'd helped her track down a few leads, and after two near-fights and one incredible car chase—_could it still be called that,_ he wondered, _if they aren't technically cars anymore?_—they were here, in a not quite shady bar, and she was meeting with an important contact who _happened_ to be a rather handsome bastard.

He grips the tumbler in his hand a little tightly before taking a swig of the liquid within it, his jaw clenching as he observes the man stroke single digit down the length of River's exposed arm. Jealousy is not new to him; after nearly a thousand or so years of living, loving, he's felt it before.

But for her it's different, like so many other things about her. The sensation of utter distaste for a man he has never known burns as the intensity of a thousand fiery Red Giant stars. He's never fancied himself a violent man; in fact, he goes out of his way to avoid such physicality. But he knows without a doubt that if that scum touches her—looks at her—like that one more time he'll be across the floor to rip the offending appendage from his body.

Mercifully, as if she can feel his animosity from across the room, River shifts and moves away from the contact_._ She utters a few last words and reaches up to pat the bastard on the cheek before sauntering back to where he stands at the bar.

He's nearly trembling now with the force of his emotions, and sets the tumbler on the counter lest he break it. River moves to stand before him, fixing his eyes with a look as she gently places her hands on his cheeks. He shudders now for another reason entirely. Her touch is soothing ice to his fire; he cannot fathom how he managed without her for so long. No one makes him feel so…human, so much more than he truly is.

When their eyes connect, an indestructible bridge is forged between their souls.

His eyes are dark, colored by heavy shades of jealousy and laced with hunger. She knows he's not human by any stretch of the imagination, but she recognizes the elements she sees in his eyes. She's felt them before as he feels them now. All those times seeing him with his other…_companions_. They were perfectly good people, yet their desire for him kept her from wholly liking them. At least Pond had been grounded by that Rory fellow of hers, and Donna Noble had been naught more than a best mate.

When he's with her, she knows, he's really _with_ her. All of him, mind body and soul focused on her. At least, she believes he is. She feels the he is, in this moment, finally appreciating what she has felt for some time now.

His hands grasp her shoulders and she is stirred from her thoughts, is absolutely still.

They remain that way for neither of them knows how long. They are two fixed points in all of time and space. And in that moment of suspension from both, the weight of what they feel crashes over them in waves. He knows that he has never felt so _much_ for anyone as he does in this instant. All the precious seconds of his life have been aiming him toward this woman, this second. He's never believed in fate until now, and as he hold her, he thanks what—or, dare he say, _whom_—ever has made this possible for him.

And as her hands slide from his face down to his arms he realises, with no small amount of satisfaction, that she feels just as he does.

River squeezes his arms and leans into him, and he swallows as her hot breath plays upon his ear.

"Let's get out of here, Sweetheart."

She releases him suddenly grasping his hand tightly as she draws him toward the door.

He lets her lead him where she will.

He never can resist her, after all.

_**Reviews are like candy to this sugar junkie. And she does dearly wish for you to indulge her habit.**_


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